


MINE IS BETTER

by bluehair



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Crack, Egg Laying, Extra sensitive ears trope, Other, Since they don't have sex, Yes elves lay eggs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehair/pseuds/bluehair
Summary: After a few busy days, I read a discord discussion and had to write this utter crack.But yes, whose is better, between Fëanor and Fingolfin?
Relationships: Anairë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Finwë/Indis (Tolkien), Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	MINE IS BETTER

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Narya (Narya_Flame)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/gifts), [Kalendeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalendeer/gifts).



There are days, or well, nights, like this one, when High King Finwë really wonders what in the world are some Vanyar teaching their children. 

Especially such a balmy night, with the light of Telperion such a sweet lattice of silver all over the sleepy inner gardens of the Tirion palace. The exact perfect time to spend said night in said sleepy, fragrant garden, under a bower of jasmine so fragrant that it seemed to him all was needed was a vial to just allow the perfume to drip in and be used later.

Or maybe he felt like that because his beloved queen, Indis, was one Vanyar who had received a proper education, evinced so well by the fact that her husband was on the verge of feeling his spirit burst out of his body and be one with the light, the perfume and the very sleepy cooing of a duilin hidden somewhere in the foliage. And how else could one feel, when slim, soft fingers were petting the tips of his ears with a gentleness that made his bones melt, just to pinch a little, with sharp nail tips, enough for his breath to escape in a desperate gasp? Only to return to the barely there petting, and repeat everything all over?

After all, it was only fair to have a bit of respite, after his eldest laid his third egg just two days prior, and they were anxiously waiting for his second to lay his first.

And now, exactly that was the issue - poor Nolofinwë was so restless, which was obviously not unusual, especially given it was his first. But his wife should have helped him, why else one takes a mate but to receive succor in such troubling occasions?

After all, it is perfectly well known that, when the laying mate starts fussing and pacing and is almost ready to cluck, the best thing to do is help said mate lay on their back, if possible, or maybe their side, and start a nice and steady massage of their entire ears, so the body can relax and prepare itself for the difficult task of pushing the egg out. Honestly, one would think nobody told the young woman anything about how elflings come into the world!

No, Finwë is absolutely not testy because his own relaxing massage was interrupted, he is not so petty. But he is very perturbed to see his son so troubled and uncomfortable! Enough that he takes things into his own hands, after he asks Indis to take their daughter in law someplace else, and calm her - how is it possible that she is so discomfited, by something so natural as laying an egg, for Eru' sake?

Softly, he coos at Nolofinwë, so, so softly, until he manages to get him to settle down, on the springy grass, with his tired head in Finwë's lap, and then, determinedly, he uses both hands to, at first, just gently cover his beautiful ears. This son of his has a particularly elegant ear peak, really, not that it is unusual, given how beautiful his entire form is. They are so long and very fragile looking at their ends that Finwë really can't understand why Anairë didn't play with them out of sheer aesthetic appreciation. 

Well, better to leave angry thoughts aside and concentrate on being helpful. After his son seems to calm down just a bit, Finwë just uses thumb and forefinger to slowly trace the edges, up, up, up, and then back on the outer edge, too, slow and easy, until his son's face loses a bit of the pinched appearance. And then he actually starts clucking already, making it so hard for his father to remain calm - he was so close, and surely it was so uncomfortable!

In any case, he continues his ministrations, until the lissome body starts to tense again, and arch slightly, and now he teases just the very slim peaks, cooing softly at the high pitched sounds Nolofinwë issues relentlessly now. It seems to take forever, and Finwë is really happy to already be used to it - he loves his eldest to pieces, really, but he does not want to remember the sheer size of Maitimo's egg. Well, Makalaurë was just a teensy bit smaller, and now this third one is just shy of the first. Hopefully, his second son will not be as hard on himself, although even Finwë knows not to hope in vain now.

Finally, it's done - and the women are back to help, a steely look in Indis' fair blue eyes. Good, because, in truth, this was worse - the ovoid is shorter, but thicker at the largest point, which of course drained poor Nolofinwë. Luckily, Anairë doesn't seem to have an issue with supporting him to their chambers, even if it's clear how difficult it is for his boy to walk after all this. 

At least they can rest now.

*

The day is just as beautiful as the night, with Laurelin bathing the streets in it's warm, golden light. It is perfect for a walk, and Finwë can't but smile at the completely besotted way his son looks down at the egg carefully nested in the special robes, while moving with painful grace, even if probably not 100% recovered after last night.  
It brings back memories, of course, and a wide smile when his son is so proud in allowing a courtier a peak at the really very beautiful egg.

It looks just like a song thrushes' - a pale blue, like the water over a very shallow, sunny beach, with dark, almost black spots, and Nolofinwë chose a dark blue robe, with a snow white inner sling, everything matching so well, it's enchanting.

"What is that bleached thing you have there?"

Ooookaaaay, this is unexpected. 

"Fëanáro, how good to see you," Finwë intervenes, because the cutting tone of his eldest doesn't bode well. 

"He needed to move, he was a bit restless," his other daughter in law, Nerdanel, intervenes, clearly as desirous as him for things to go smoothly.

"What do you mean?" his second asks now, a arm starting to curl protectively against the treasure in his robes.

"What is that, blue? Is it even possible to get something out of such a cold shell?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Fëanáro smirks now, and it seems like the light just curls around him, emanates from him, like flames, when he proudly lets everyone peak at the almost jewel like egg he holds: a warm light yellow, like the best butter churned in June, with a dappling of brilliant red spots. The first one was red like an ember, Finwë remembers, while the second resembled a peregrine falcon's in shade. None of them usual, indeed, feeding the pride of his handsome heir.

"Because fire is better," he says, now, and who can contradict Fëanáro?

**Author's Note:**

> And, if you want to see pretty eggs, here: https://www.dkfindout.com/us/animals-and-nature/birds/birds-eggs/


End file.
